To be certain, if you’re going to be exiled in the U.S., be in a place like this. I’ve been watching the weather back east with a bit of wonder, to be honest. I haven’t seen rain a handful of times since I landed here in June. The stories you’ve heard about this place are reasonably accurate where weather’s concerned. But California winter’s yet to come. No disrespect, but by then I’d like to be back in Toronto, thanks awfully. Despite all.
Guys my age ask me, “So now it’s been a year. Whatcha gonna do?” I say nothing. Not where love’s concerned; I’ve been married three times; wives two and three died. I don’t like the over/under chances for anyone else, so instead….
When you truly reach bottom, and I mean truly reach it (I have an enormously outsized ego), you understand that the climb back involves whatever you have remaining. You don’t want to see my handwritten daybook, where “the real raw feed” happen; if I were in their places, people like my handwriting on which I concentrate as a way of getting more deeply into the process, but then they see what I actually say. Oh, well.
I’m beginning to wonder about teaching again, anywhere that would have me. Of course, I have a history. Oh, God. Do I ever. I’ve earned it, though, and would rather own up to the truth than live out a series of lies.